Broken Promise
by SaJi
Summary: Slash. Batman/Joker - "You tease and you tease. But all you are Joker is a broken promise."


**Disclaimer:** The Dark Knight, Batman & The Joker are sadly not mine. *crie*

**Warnings:** This fik is rated a **hard** **M**. It is rated a **hard** **M** for some non-too-descriptive guy on guy **Non-Con** action. That means sex. Between two guys. More specifically between Batman and Joker. Where one of them doesn't really like it all that very much. This is **serious Non-Con**, not "I will rape you and you will like it!"

Some people have found this fik beautiful, others disturbing and uncomfortable. If **"real" Non-Con** is not your cup of tea then please go elsewhere and take your griping with you. If it is your cup of tea then please enjoy. Also rated **M** for some language.

**Beta:** Me, Myself & I.

Reviews are love and makes the world go round, so please if you liked, let me know.

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**Broken Promise**

The Joker runs. The Batman chases.

Always chasing. Always just out of reach.

The night air is cool, its chill sending sharp pains piercing through Bruce's lungs with each desperate step, at each fleeting glance of purple as the Joker winds and weaves his way through the narrow, gritty, dark alleyways. The Jokers sharply piercing laugh echoes off the dilapidated and decaying buildings of this once decent neighborhood, taunting and pulling Batman further into the abyss.

He turns a corner and suddenly the Joker is _there. _

Slightly bent over, his giggles smothered as he takes in deep breaths of air through his nose the Joker seems to consider his surrounding before canting a look and flashing a saccharine grin back at the living shadow that pursued him, taking off once more into the darkness.

Ignoring the fluttering sensation that oddly affectionate smile had sent spiraling throughout his being Bruce grit his teeth and, disregarding the falter in his steps, lunged forward, fingers outstretched and desperate in their goal. Black closed around purple and for a moment time stopped, triumph and relief filling Bruce's senses before the world slipped from under him, the purple coat becoming lose and oddly heavy in his hand as the Joker manages to twist and slips out of the fabric, a taunt ready and willing on his painted lips.

_Damn it. _Growling, throwing the jacket carelessly to the damp, soiled ground of the alleyway Batman redoubles his efforts. His mind and body intent on catching his prey.

But the Joker is always tantalizingly just out of reach, dancing on the edge of Bruce's fingertips, teasing with his erratic movements and false starts and stops, of the promise of capture. Of the promise of their long overdue dance. Oh not this kind - the chasing and the taunts, but the other - the purely physical. The caress of flesh on flesh, darkly intense and wholly consuming, as fists met with a willing body. The laughs, the moans, the way the Jokers body would arch into his own, demanding more, craving the Batman's touch and the shattering of his own bones.

It trilled Bruce in a way that nothing else had ever come close to. The ability to be wholly himself. And he wanted it. He wanted it so badly that sometimes it scared him. This darkness, this want to utterly dominate and possess. And the Joker, the Joker gave that to him, willingly and without thought as to the depravity, the wrongness of it. He continuously offered himself to the Dark Knight, offered his body in surrender to the Batman's frustrations and anger, his inability to unleash his full fury unfettered by the rules of man upon those who hurt his city.

Save one.

And Batman wanted... _Bruce _wanted...

Cursing as his feet slide out from under him on the slick ground Bruce makes a desperate grab at the door frame of a ramshackle building the Joker had suddenly dived into, barely regaining his purchase before scrambling after the madman.

The houses' interior is dark and dank, the smell of rot and decay cloyingly heavy in the air. Everything screams at Bruce to be careful, to be cautious, that the Joker could be hidden behind any corner and in any dark shadow, ready and waiting to stab him in the back. He ignores it all, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty silence, stirring dust and dirt in to hazy clouds in his wake as he tears blindly through the building.

And so it is that he finds himself crashing into a plaint body as he turns blindly around a corner.

A clash of colors and a luridly painted smile are all that register in his mind before they're falling, tangling together as they slam forcefully into the floor, the Jokers head soon filling the surprised silence with a sickening crack as it smacks violently against the hardwood, the breath rushing out of his lungs with an audible whoosh of air as Bruce lands heavily on top of him.

Gritting his teeth at the pain that coursed up through his elbows and into the base of his neck from the force of the impact Bruce lifts himself slightly, bracing himself on either side of the Jokers still prone figure. Catching his breath he takes the rare moment of stillness to study the clown, to re-familiarize himself with the figure that had haunted his dreams and every waking thoughts for the past six months.

He takes in the planes of the Jokers face and the familiar covering of makeup. The dark hollow of the eyes, long, pale lashes resting at peace against the darkness, the pale white giving a false impression of fragility and those lips... slightly parted and the color of freshly spilled blood...

Licking his own lips Bruce breaths in lowly, skimming his fingers, just shy of touching, upwards, following the curve of the Jokers ravaged cheek. Eyes flickering away from the Jokers ever present smile Bruce's attention catches on the green tint to his hair, more vivid than usual, as though only recently redone. His breathing stilling Bruce reaches out to touch one of the lank mossy strands when movement beneath him jolts him back to himself and cursing he instead braces his forearm firmly, yet gently against the madman's throat, preparing himself, least their battle begin anew.

Bruce watches in silence as the Jokers lashes flutter erratically, his body shifting ever so slightly under Bruce's weight, as one hand reaches up to instinctively wrap loose fingers around the arm pressed against his throat, the other dragging listlessly against the floor at his side and it is only then that Bruce realizes that it had never occurred to him to check if the Joker had been armed and, inwardly berating himself, thanks whatever luck found both hands devoid of lethal blades.

Green eyes slitting open to peer hazily up into matching brown the Jokers lips curve upwards, a breathless, wheezing laughter escaping him. "Well Bats, ya caught me. Let's ah, hear a cheer for our hero folks."

Scowling down at the dazed man Bruce was about to growl out a retort when something that had been nagging at the edge of his senses rushed to the fore with the Jokers words. The scent of blood, hardly fresh, but not too long spilled clung to the dust laden air. Mindful of the rapidly rousing psychopath underneath him Bruce lifted his gaze, taking in their surroundings for the first time.

They lay sprawled in the middle of what once must have been a living room, the room itself, as well as the house it belonged to, long since abandoned to the corruption and decay of the Narrows. Dust and debris of varying origins littered the scrapped and worn floor and little, if anything of serviceable furnishings survived save for one threadbare and moth eaten couch positioned on the far wall to their right.

And that was were Bruce found his gaze trapped, unwilling and unable to tear itself away.

It wasn't the coach itself that filled his blood with ice and made his stomach drop low with a sickening jerk.

It wasn't the man, dressed in rags.

Or the women, in a soft, frilly dress.

But the boy propped up between them, his tawny head resting tenderly against the women's shoulder, his hand held gently in the older mans.

All three were soaked in blood, hinting at the brutality of their deaths, and all three had jagged, ghastly grins carved into their faces, their eyes glazed and hollow, staring forever into darkness.

His body filled with an odd numbness Bruce barely felt the lithe form of the Joker move as the madman wiggled beneath him, eager to regain the Batman's attention. "I ah, know how much you _love_ an audience."

His throat tightening as his vision bled red Bruce slowly turned his gaze away from the macabre caricature of a family before him and back down to the ever grinning clown. And he _was_ grinning. The Jokers face looked about ready to split as he beamed up at the dark creature holding him down, eyes laughing in the face of Batman's anger, his disgust. Pride shining undisguised and mirthlessly in eyes just as void and empty, just as soulless as the poor bastards sitting just feet away from them.

A roar of pure rage clawing its way up from deep within his throat Bruce snapped his arm back and drove it forwards, his fist connecting with a sick thud against the Jokers cheek, sending the madman's head careening violently to the side, a spray of blood flying from the Jokers parted lips, dripping down his chin and onto the dust covered floor. Growling low and dangerous Bruce tangled his fingers tightly into the Jokers hair, his forearm pressing more firmly against his throat as he jerked the Jokers head forward, locking gazes once more. "A _child._"

Sighing breathlessly at the rough treatment the Joker merely shrugs. "Adult, child. One's big, one's small. One's old, one's young. Really Bats what's the difference? Come on, just hit me again already."

Gritting his teeth Bruce growls lowly in his throat as he slams the Jokers head back roughly into the hardwood floor, raising his fist to once more strike out in anger and hatred. Bruce watches as the Jokers eyes light up, his whole body arching up against Bruce's own in anticipation of that fist plowing into him again, a low husky mantra of _'hit me'_ filling the space between them and Bruce falters.

His brows knitting, his breaths coming in harsh, ragged gasps Bruce regards the man beneath him.

The Joker lead him here. He killed those people knowing it would enrage Batman. He killed a _child_ knowing it would incite him to further, more brutal violence.

He hadn't caught the Joker. The Joker had allowed himself to get caught.

He wanted this as much as Batman did.

As much as Bruce did.

He wanted...

Batman's gaze is drawn and held as the Joker laughs breathlessly, his tongue snaking out to catch and taste the blood seeping from his painted lips. And unwittingly Bruce finds himself becoming transfixed once more by the Jokers mouth and lips. The shape of them, their color, the jagged uneven scars and delicate pink tongue.

Teasing, always teasing.

Without thinking and not realizing what he's doing Bruce slowly unfurls his fist, his heart beating a staccato rhythm against his chest as he leans forward, brushing his knuckles gently along the Jokers jaw before catching those villainous lips with his own, chasing that vile, teasing tongue into the warmth of the Jokers mouth.

The Joker stills beneath him, neither rejecting nor actively engaging in the kiss as Bruce delves further into his mouth.

Bruce's brows furrow, knitting together as the coppery tang of blood fills his senses and sweeping his tongue along and passed the Jokers teeth seeks out the Jokers own. Tightening his grip at the nap of the Jokers neck Bruce growls into the others mouth as the Jokers tongue skitters away from his at contact and instead turns his attention towards the rough inner scar tissue of the Jokers cheeks, running his tongue in a gentle caress along their rigid surface. At this the Joker jerks roughly against his restraining grip, pulling back to break the kiss and turning his head slightly at Bruce's unconscious move to follow him.

The Joker laughs, watching Batman wearily from the corner of his eye as he whispers breathily, "And you call me a _freak._"

Bruce, still caught up in his impromptu kiss, fights against the foggy haze that has settled over his mind. "What?"

The Joker bites his tongue, his eyes roaming upwards before settling once more on the Bat. "And here I thought you just got off on beating the crap out of me. Don't get me wrong, I do too. But you... You actually _want_ me, don't you?"

Bruce's grip tightens reflexively in the Jokers hair, shame burning in his eyes as his left forearm unconsciously presses down more firmly against the Jokers throat.

The Jokers eyes light up. "You _do._" Breaking out in delighted giggles, he gives Batman a cheeky grin. "Oh if only your sweet Gotham could see you now. See how much of a freak you really are."

Bruce bares his teeth, snarling angrily. "You're the freak. The monster. A murdering psychopath, who kills children..."

"Ah ah ah... I may be a," Clearing his throat the Joker raises two fingers from Batman's arm to approximate air quotes, while rolling his eyes. "'murdering psychopath, who ah, kills children', but _you're_ the one that gets his rocks off beating said murdering psychopath, while secretly wanting to _fuck_ him. Now... You tell me Bat_man_, whose the bigger freak? Hmm...? Who's the _real_ monster?"

Bruce feels himself flush with anger. At himself? The Joker? The truth of the madman's words? He doesn't know, he doesn't want to know. It's enough to know that such shameful, depraved feelings for the madman exist within himself without having to look into the _why. _And he wasn't a monster. He _wasn't._

His jaw tightening, Bruce narrows his eyes at the Joker. "What about you Joker? Don't tell me you don't want the same thing."

"What? To fuck myself?" The Joker smirks slyly, eyes widening. "I don't know about what kind of fantasies you dream up Bat, but I don't think I can quite manage _that_."

Bruce's teeth clench, anger tinting his vision. "What about all that 'you complete me' bullshit you're always spouting. The looks, the touches... You can't tell me you don't want this."

"Oh Batsy Baby you _do_, you do complete me. Your fists, your violence, your anger. They bring me to life. _You_ bring me to life. But '_this_', I don't want 'this'. Oh no, 'this' is _all_ you and what _you_ want."

"_Liar._" The word is growled deep in Bruce's throat as he lifts the Joker up slightly before slamming him roughly back against the floor.

The Joker laughs as his head smacks soundly into the hardwood, an audible crack filling the space between them. Breathing deeply he listens to the Batman's ragged breathing for a moment before opening his dazed eyes, the green dancing with mirth, to meet with the Bats' once more, the brown hard and boiling over with a barely contained emotion the Joker couldn't identify.

"You... You and your denial, about yourself, your true nature, your _wants_ will never cease to amuse me, but I will no_t_ indulge your self delusions _Bat._" The Joker lowly hissed. "And if you _ever_ stick that tongue of yours in my mouth again," The Joker smiled, his lips curling up into a feral, toothy grin. "I'll bite it off."

Batman stills, his breath coming out in slow, deep, even hisses, his vision slowly turning red at the Jokers words, his _lies._

His mind drifts back to the night six long months ago when he had last seen the Joker as he deposited him once more into the tender embrace of Arkham Asylum. Remembered the clowns teasing words to him in parting. The way their bodies had clashed earlier that night in their dance along Gotham's dark streets and alleyways.

The way that they always seemed to meld into one being when they fought, not just that night, but since the beginning. Constantly and without fail the Joker leading the dance and tempting Batman to follow.

And follow he would, unable to resist the pull the other man had on him.

The way the Jokers body would melt into his with each and every blow landed to him, the way his lips, bleeding and torn would utter such low and erotic exhalations of breath and soft laughter. His fingers, long and deceptively jittery, skimming along any available purchase of Batman's armor they could find. His eyes, coy and filled with never ending amusement promising, such things as Bruce dared not dream. And his tongue, that soft, pink tongue constantly teasing as it flickered over poisoned lips, slowly driving Bruce mad with its offerings of forbidden possibilities, if only Batman dared to reach out and _take_.

His eyes.

His lips.

Always teasing. Always promising.

And when Bruce finally gives in, when he dares to taste that which is forbidden the Joker dares, he _dares_ to lie to him. To _deny him._ To claim it was, what? A joke? Bruce's mind playing with him, seeing what he wanted?

No. _No._

Always teasing, always dancing just out reach.

But he was caught now and Bruce would teach that seditious cock tease the folly in promising things he never had any intentions of following through with.

Untangling his fingers from the madman's hair Bruce grips the other mans jaw tightly, digging his fingers into the jagged crevices of the Jokers scarred cheeks, slowly prying the smaller mans clenched jaw open and ignoring the dangerous, guttural growl emanating from those too red lips, surges forward to claim them once more.

The kiss is harsh and brutal and leaves Bruce's senses spinning dizzyingly as the Joker, trying to force his jaw closed against Bruce's fingers, manages to rip the insides of his cheeks, flooding his mouth, and Bruce's, with the coppery tang of fresh blood.

Withdrawing Bruce doesn't give the Joker time to react. Releasing his iron grip on the others jaw he pulls back and slams his elbow brutally into the side of the Jokers head sending it reeling once, twice, three times until the Joker lays sprawled and unmoving beneath him.

For six months Bruce has had to content himself with brief flashes of false hope and stolen moments in time. Of grainy surveillance footage or haphazard camera work of the madman's own design. But of the Joker himself? Nothing. Not a word, not a sighting. And Bruce had _looked_. Had waited. Had known the Joker would seek him out and yet the madman _hadn't_. And every night the Batman grew more desperate in his search, the cravings for their dances to begin anew building inside him until he was sure he was going insane...

But not any longer.

His eyes narrowing, his breathing too heavy and his limbs shaking, Bruce once more takes in his surroundings, searching, searching for something he could use. Something that would hold against the madman's furry and denial, would restrain that deceptively slight frame and allow Bruce to lay _claim_.

He would _take_ what was his.

He would have him.

His eyes narrowing as he spots a warped form hiding in the shadows of the couches' underbelly Bruce slides off the Jokers prone body, grunting as he reaches outward, his gloves smearing in the congealed blood that had pooled at the couches edge and pulls from that darkness a long, twisted coil of rusted wire.

Standing, the strand of wire held tightly in one hand, Bruce growls low in his throat as he leans downward to once more tangle his fingers in the Jokers hair. His teeth bared, he tightens his grip, yanking harshly as he pulls the unconscious man across the floor towards an old cast iron radiator that lay resting against one wall, its once white paint sloughing and flaking off in sheets to reveal the rot and decay, the corruption that lay just beneath its once cultured veneer.

Dropping the Joker unceremoniously to the floor at its feet Batman kneels down, slowly taking the gloves off of each of the Jokers hands before removing his own and taking the Jokers right wrist coiled one end of the rusted wire tightly against the frail bones before forcing the rest of its lengths between and behind the radiators thick bars then snaking it back through and positioning the Jokers hands so they're just out reach of the other, binds the Jokers left wrist, his skin bleeding white and bloodless under the wires constricting embrace.

An almost hum of approval nearly escapes his lips as Bruce allows his eyes to roam the still unconscious figure beside him and thankful the other man hadn't worn his inner blue jacket he reaches out slowly undoing the buttons of the Jokers green vest and releases the snaps on the Jokers suspenders, moving them carefully out of the way before roughly gripping and yanking the Jokers shirt open, sending buttons skittering in all directions across the floor to disappear in the shadows of this forgotten place.

Bruce feels the breath catch in his lungs, the edges of his vision, the shadows of the room growing more darker, his only clear focus the body that lay before him.

Growling possessively, settling himself on top of the slighter man, he runs his hands, fingers splayed, up along the Jokers abdomen, feeling each prominent protrusion of bone as he ghosts up along the others ribcage and chest. Memorizing each indentation and puckering of scarred flesh, owning each that were his and laying claim to those that weren't.

Leaning forward, his eyes half closed but his senses wholly focused on the body under him Bruce runs his tongue along one such scar, following its winding path from the hollow of the Jokers throat, up along his collarbone and to the side of his neck before biting down, suckling the Jokers pulse point as his fingers skim downwards, deftly undoing the fastenings to the Jokers pants and with a bit of maneuvering manages to pull them down passed the Jokers hips. His hands then skim upwards, his thumbs brushing light caresses along the insides of those prominent hip bones as his other fingers, curled and possessive, grip, raising the Jokers hips ever so slightly up to meet his as he slowly begins to rock against the other man.

The Joker stirs beneath him.

Bruce can feel the exact moment when the Joker regains consciousness, feels it in the change of the Jokers pulse beneath his lips and tongue, in the more rigid stillness of the slighter mans frame. Can feel the tightness in the others body as the Joker gathers himself to strike and grinning into the hollow of the Jokers neck and shoulder Bruce scrapes his teeth along the others flesh before quickly pulling back just as all that pent up energy exploded, the Joker barely missing Bruce's own neck as he jerks his head to follow the other mans retreat.

Grinning wolfishly, all eyeteeth and malice, Bruce braces himself, his hands still gripping the others waist and leans forward, before jerking roughly downward on the body beneath him, relishing in the surprised half hiss, half moan that escapes the Jokers lips as his arms are pulled taunt against the wire that binds him.

The Joker, breath hissing lowly between his clenched teeth, his long pale fingers wrapping around the rusted wire coiled tightly around his wrists, cranes his neck forwards, his eyes hooded and dark. "I'm no_t _some _whore_ for you to _fuck_ with."

Running his fingers along the Jokers scars, smearing the red paint, Batman leans forward brushing his lips whisper soft against the shell of the Jokers ear before sneering derisively against his lips. "If you don't want to be treated like a whore, you shouldn't dress like one."

An animalistic growl of rage clawing its way from the Jokers throat the slighter man moves with uncanny speed and precession, snapping his jaws, just barely missing the other mans lips as Bruce reflexively moves back out range.

Batman's lips twitch momentarily into a frown as he regards the fuming man trapped beneath him, before slowly his lips curl upwards. Leaning forwards to tower over the Joker he reaches one hand out to brace himself against the Jokers bound wrist, the other traveling slowly from the inside of the Jokers hipbone, up along the rapidly expanding and contracting ribcage, to rest momentarily against his racing and too fast pulse point before striking out and once more capturing the Jokers jaw in a bone crushing grip.

Leaning close, taking in the unfamiliar expression clouding the other man's eyes, Bruce hisses roughly between bared teeth. "You may not be a whore Joker, but I _am_ going to _fuck_ you like one."

Not giving the other any time to react Bruce crushes their mouths together in a bruising kiss, once more prying the Jokers mouth open to delve inside, breathing harshly through his nose as he all but devours the other man, as though seeking to draw out his spirit and consume it, making them of one flesh.

Slowly tracing his left hand from the Jokers wrist, down along his straining arm and to the side of the other mans neck Bruce roughly rocked into the slighter mans hips before tangling his fingers in the Jokers hair and, breaking the kiss, slams the Jokers head backwards against the hardwood floor with as much force as he can manage. The Jokers eyes are dazed and unfocused, his movements sluggish and offering no resistance as Bruce lifts himself just enough to roughly flip the madman over onto his stomach, smirking at the half hissed, half moaned and barely conscience curse of pain as the madman's arms are twisted, forced into crossing each other by their binds, his shoulders popping loudly in protest at the forced angle.

Splaying his fingers against the clothed lower back beneath him Bruce licks his dry lips before sliding his hands lower over pale, exposed flesh, his eyes closing as a shudder runs through his being. He's wanted this, wanted _him_ for so long and now... Now all he had to do, was take.

A shudder of lust, tainted with another fleeting emotion, courses through him and scraping his nails roughly along the Jokers exposed skin he brings his hands to his own armor, deftly working to release himself from the only thing that stood between them. As cool night air meets with heated, sweat dampened skin Batman hisses, ghosting his fingertips along the already hardened length of his cock, trailing his thumb through a small bead of precum that already rest at its head before taking himself in hand.

His breath shuddering, his eyes closing against the sensation Bruce resists the urge the stroke himself, instead squeezing slightly as he lets his free hand trail along the Jokers exposed flesh, slowly following the curve of his hip to dip downward in the space between the other man and the floor. Pausing momentarily as the Joker inadvertently jerks back into him when his fingers meet surprisingly soft curls Bruce growls lowly in his throat, his hand trembling as it continues its journey, his fingers finally wrapping around soft flesh.

Only then does Bruce allow his hands to move, his breath escaping him in a shuddering gasp and his body bending slightly forward as he works both the Joker and himself in unison. Moaning, lost in the haze of sensations as the tip of his cock occasionally brushes whisper soft against bared skin Bruce barely catches the low, angrily hissed words of the man trapped beneath him, poisonous green eyes glaring at him from over a slightly trembling shoulder. "You put that thing in me and I swear I'll cut it off."

Allowing his fingers to ghost in one last caress along the soft length of the Jokers cock Bruce withdraws his hand, resting it in a too tender motion on the Jokers hip, his other hand having released himself to trail up the Jokers clothed spine, tangling in the hair at the nap of the madman's neck and jerking backwards harshly, the Jokers breath hissing between clenched teeth at the painfully forced arch.

Sneering at the Jokers canted look of anger and hatred Bruce leans closer, flicking his tongue along the exposed expanse of the Jokers neck before trailing upwards, clamping the sensitive skin of the Jokers earlobe between sharp teeth until the tangy salt of blood teased his senses. Straightening, his hand retreating its previous path to rest opposite his other, Bruce flexes his fingers, a thrill shooting up his spine at the dark growl directed towards him as green eyes flicker downwards. "You tease and you tease. But all you are _Joker_ is a broken promise."

Eyes flickering closed as he slowly pushes into the warmth of the Jokers body, nails digging red crescents in soon to be bruised flesh, Batman's mind whorls, a cacophony of thoughts and sensations.

Desire and hatred.

The scent heavy and pungent in the musty air.

Eyes slitting open he watches himself, watches as he slowly becomes consumed by the taunt and too tense body beneath him.

The Jokers back arches up, the cords and tendons of his arms and wrists showing as his shoulders hunch further into himself, his head is bowed down, forehead pressed firmly against the grimy floor and through the sweaty veil of green hair Bruce can see the tendons in his pale throat pull taunt as he pulls against the wire that binds him, rust and blood staining his fingers, jade eyes hidden between firmly clenched lids, his breath hissing, raw and hoarse, through tightly clamped teeth. "..._fuckfuckfuckfuck..."_

Leaning over him, his teeth bared in anger and possession Batman growls into the crook of the madman's neck and shoulder, his nose brushing almost tenderly against a trembling jaw. "How does it feel Joker? How does it feel to get _fucked?_ Like you fuck with my city." _With me. _

His thoughts breaking on the last Bruce stops his slow entry, pulling out what progress he's made only to forcefully ram himself into the slighter man, his fingers digging bloody tracks along the Jokers hips as the Jokers body tenses even more, bloodied fingers and ragged nails skittering around and along jagged metal as the other screams out in pain, the sound like razors on wire, shattering the stillness of the night around them and the Narrows holds its rancid breath.

But Bruce isn't worried about the cops or any curious degenerates coming to investigate, the inhabitants of the Narrows having learned long ago to mind their own and Batman finds himself relishing for the first time in that knowledge, allowing him to focus on the feel of the madman's body beneath and around him and the sound of the Jokers screams, drowning in their intensity as they wash over him, each more hoarser and broken than the last.

Too moist green eyes briefly show themselves as a low, shattered moan rakes the trembling body beneath him, a painted face turns inwards, hiding behind a curtain of lank jade curls and trembling forearms and it strikes Bruce that for the first time it wasn't a sound tainted with an undercurrent of pleasure. For the first time since he had known the madman, the Joker honestly felt true pain. The knowledge thrums through Bruce's veins, thrilling the darkness inside him and leaning forward Batman sinks his teeth into a clothed shoulder blade, biting and tearing at the silken cloth like it was the flesh he wished it to be, craving and willing another one of those strained pain filled moans to fill the air around them.

It's not long before Bruce feels wet warmth between them, the coppery tang of fresh blood filling his senses and stinging his nerves as his frantic movements are eased and eyes closed, clawed fingers relentless in their grip Batman leans forward into each thrust determined to push harder, to pull every sound of pain and defeated possession from the Jokers deceitful, lying lips. To let the madman know without doubt that he was _his_, that _this_ was his and _nothing_ could change that, not the Jokers _lies_, nor his half choked hisses of hate and retribution.

For there was no laughter now, no sign of sickening affection. Hate and resentment rolled off the Joker in waves, traveling between the points of contact between them, shooting up Bruce's spin and into his brain. And in some distant corner, a part of him screamed and riled against the possession of his own mind, against the depravity and wrongness of what he was doing, against everything he threw away with this one action of madness. But that part of himself was drowned out, drowned by grunts and moans and blood and flesh. By power and forced submission, possession and ownership.

The rusted wires binding the Jokers wrists are no longer discernible from the thick coat of red blood that covers them, the jagged metal forced deep within the sensitive flesh, pulled tighter and tighter with each jerked thrust of Bruce's hips and Batman is so close. He can feel it, just under his spine, that tingling pressure, the small spark promising release and he pulls harder, thrusts faster as his vision blurs, darkening around the edges.

His breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps, his gaze flicks momentarily upwards, catching his and the Jokers dull reflection in a dust smeared window.

Catching the infinitesimal movement of small fingers against a larger adult sized hand.

Bruce's eyes jerk, locking onto the reflection of the dull, glassy eyes of the boy, his tawny head tilted at a slightly different angle then remembered and fresh diluted crimson trailing through the jagged tears in his cheeks and over pale trembling lips.

Not dead.

Alive.

Bruce's heart leaps into his throat and he's unable to tear his gaze away from that of a dying child, the last shred of innocence in that too young gaze slowly bleeding out as Batman's heart and body thrums and as he comes hard into the Joker, he watches as that last dying light of innocence and hope in the boys eyes fades, drowned by the sins of a world far darker than one so young should ever dare to dream.

Bruce's mind is numb, his fingers stiff and aching as he pulls out of the Jokers body, unable and unwilling to turn and face a young life thrice betrayed. Fingers trembling he reaches out towards the Jokers wrists, his grip uncertain and slippery as he pries at the twisted metal that had joined itself with the Jokers ragged and torn flesh, content with its new home and purpose.

His hands freed the Joker says nothing, rolling to his side and curling up into himself as his hands, bloodied and hooked, shaking as he shakes, are pulled protectively against his chest. It takes Bruce a moment to realize that the madman is laughing brokenly, tears carving trails down his paint smeared face, revealing human skin underneath.

Not a monster, but a man.

Bruce can feel himself start to shake, his fists clenching at the sight of the Jokers tear stained makeup and the sound of his choking, sobbing laughs, the half realized and acknowledged awareness that the Joker never reached his own climax, never got hard, the memory of the child, everything he'd just done all rushing up to met him at once and infuriated he strikes out yelling at the madman to stop crying, to stop pretending that he's something he's not, that he's human.

Again and again he strikes, long after the laughter has turned to silence and a new coat of freshly warm blood covers his fists, long after his voice has gone hoarse and cracks before refusing to come at all, until finally, with a soundless cry of pure rage, he flings himself away from the unconscious man, back hitting solidly against the wall behind him and slumps defeated against it, his gaze falling on the still form.

On the Joker covered in grime and blood and semen.

Reaching up Bruce removes his cowl, shaky fingers running through damp hair to grip tightly at the nap of his neck, his head bowed as he brings his knees up to his chest, lips trembling and eyes closed, he can still see the dead boys eyes staring into his own, his ghastly carved and seeping smile laughing.

Forever laughing.

Laughing at him.

The real monster.

* * *

**Additional ****A/N (3/29/09): **While favs are nice, they alone do not let me know what you liked about the story. Please if you've read it and liked it press the little green button below this text labeled 'review' and let me know what about it you liked. If it's an "I liked everything!" that's great, if it's an "I liked...' and a lot of detail, that's even better. Even if there was something you didn't like about it (besides it being slash and Non-Con, mucho warnings there), I would love to hear what you personally think. If you don't want people going to the review page and seeing that OMG! You read slash! And Non-Con you sick bastard!, please feel free to leave a review anonymously. I don't mind, honest. So please, it'll only take a minute, feed an author and leave a review. _  
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